Chapter 1: M4.E2

Chapter 1 of the Wasteland. A man wakes up in an abandoned gas station with no memories of where he is, how he got here, or who he is...

He woke up with a splitting headache; it felt like his head might burst open at any moment. He reached up pulling his hand back wet with blood. “What the…” he whispered as he looked around. He was in an old gas station, all of the windows were broken, everything was covered in a layer of dust, and most of the contents of the store were empty and on the floor. He slowly stood up using the shelving next to him to support most of his weight. How did I get here? Where am I? Who am I for that matter? The last question had his head spinning and he had to lean on the shelving to keep from falling over. A myriad of images flashed through his mind, with one word standing out, Hunter.

He could see flashes of war and living in a weird metal city. He stood there leaning against the shelving trying to remember more but could not bring more to mind. He stood up straight and started to walk towards the counter by the front door. With each step he took towards the door he regained more of his strength. By the time he stood by the front door he could stand tall with only a slight headache. The door of the gas station stood crooked and busted on its rusty hinges. He tried to open the door but it was no use the door was jammed, he started to kick it down but something stopped him. He looked around an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He crouched and perked up his ears, something had him on edge and he didn’t know why. He listened for a few minutes but could not hear anything unusual, only the wind through the broken windows. He stood up and looked over to the counter on his left. He didn’t know why but his attention kept being drawn behind that counter. He walked around the counter and looked around; his eyes were immediately drawn to a safe built into the bottom of the counter. He had a strange feeling that he had seen this safe before. Bending down he examined the safe more closely, realizing he had seen this safe before. Then suddenly he could see an image in his mind’s eye.

The gas station was whole once more, the windows were new, the door was on the hinges, and everything was still full and on the shelving. There was a man standing behind the counter smiling down at a little boy playing there at his feet. The boy was playing with a toy jet, and there next to the boy was the safe. Another image quickly flashed through his mind. The same man was twisting the lock to unlock the safe. This time the boy was standing watching his father.

Just as quickly as it happened the images were gone and he was left with two things: a splitting headache again and a series of numbers. He did not know where they came from, but he had a guess. He twisted the locking mechanism using the numbers in his head. The lock clicked and he pulled the door open, amazed at what had just taken place. He knew that boy was him, he didn’t know how but he just did, he also knew he had been in this gas station before. But not when it was like this, not in this condition.

He opened the door of the safe all the way, and there in a rust-free gun bag, was a handgun. He reached into the safe and pulled the translucent gun bag out. He unzipped the bag and let out a gasp, his hands shook as he took the handgun out. It was a beautiful Colt 1911 .45 ACP, it was made of blued steel and had ivory grips. The handgun was a work of art, and had a motto written on the side, “Celer �"Silens �"Mortalis.” He knew what that meant, “Swift- Silent- Deadly” and when he remembered that phrase it all came crashing back, memory upon memory. He dropped the gun and grasped his head as a pain he had not felt before pierced through his brain. He felt a red hot fire in his head and could see nothing but white.

Then suddenly it was over, the pain subsided and left a dull ache in his head. He could remember his name Aaron Brooks, he could remember his childhood, and he could remember his past. Well most of it, he could remember growing up, joining the Corps, fighting in the Middle East, and then… then it all got fuzzy. He remembered being called back from leave early visiting his dad, and being sent to Africa for an emergency. But after that, it just kind of got jumbled and he could only see unfocused images. But he was left with feelings from that time, feelings of disbelief, shock, horror, and finally determination and hope.

He shook his head, pissed off at his brain for not working right, and picked up the gun he had dropped. He knew now this was his father’s gun and he had always kept a few spare magazines and rounds in a hidden compartment in the safe. He reached back into the safe and pulled up what looked to be the bottom, but was really a lid. Inside were four 50 round boxes of .45 ammo, and two 7 round magazines. This would do, he didn’t know what was going on or why his dad’s gas station was in ruin, but at least he had a weapon. He stood up and looked at the station more closely now knowing what it should look like.

He could tell no one had been in here for a while, apart from a set of tracks and a drag mark leading to the back. He also knew now that there was a backdoor that way. How many years are missing from my memory? That was his main question now, because the station looked like it had been like this for years, and that worried him. He decided he had better be prepared for anything, he looked around the station for supplies or anything to help him. All he could find was a decent flashlight that looked like the batteries were almost dead, and a cloth sack. He put the flashlight and ammo in the sack and tied it in a knot. He stuck the two extra magazines in the pockets of his tan Carhartt pants and the gun in the small of his back under his plain white shirt.

He followed the tracks to the back door; he could tell by the light coming in through the windows that it was midday. He reached for the door knob and turning it he opened the door to the outside. He looked in awe at the desolation that lay before him. He knew right away that something was not right, it did not feel right. The ground surrounding the gas station was dry, desert like, and dead. The little vegetation that was visible was dead and there were no trees in sight. The best way to describe it was ruined, the road, the signs, and the garage behind the station was all in ruin.

The station sat on the side of a two lane highway, or what used to be a highway. It was now half buried under dirt and the parts that were still showing were in terrible condition, being cracked and uneven. There was a garage behind the station and a small shed next to that. The station sat in the mountains in a small valley, surrounded on two sides by mountains. Brooks knew that just over the drop down the road was a small town, his hometown.

Brooks slowly walked over to the door of the garage, it was open and he could see tracks leading inside. Brooks took the gun out from behind his back, chambered a round and held it next to his chest, ready. He turkey peaked around the doorway then withdrew back to safety; from that small glance the room looked empty. He did the same thing again only this time he lingered longer with his head through the door. He still saw no movement so he quickly went through the door and into a crouch with his handgun pointed straight ahead as he looked around. He relaxed slightly, still keeping the handgun close he quickly looked around the one room two car garage. Someone has already been through here, he thought as he looked around. In the end all he found for his trouble was a pair of pliers with wire cutters.

He exited the building throwing the pliers into his bag and heading to the shed. The door was shut on this one so he opened it slowly, there was no one inside. There was also nothing inside; he remembered this small shed always being locked so he had no idea what was ever stored in it. He looked around and seeing nothing else he could do here, he decided to head to town and ask around to see what was going on. He looked at the cloth bag in his hands, why did he feel the need to “salvage” all this stuff. He knew the town had a small hardware store, but he could not dismiss the gut feeling that he needed to be doing this. So he followed his instincts and kept his senses sharp as he started walking the couple of miles to town.

A few minutes later he crested the rise and looked down onto the town. He knew right away something was seriously wrong. Just like the gas station before the whole town was in ruin, not a single building was still whole and intact. Most of the houses were missing roofs and walls and all the cars were destroyed. There was no one he could see and nothing moved in the small town. Brooks had served in the CORPS and knew what a war torn town looked like, and taking in the town that was the only way to describe it. He looked out past the town now and took in the whole horizon. It all looked like back at the station: ruined and dead. He tried hard but could not see a single piece of green vegetation anywhere; it was all brown, grey, tan, and black and nothing looked alive.

 

Author's Note

This is a rough draft and subject to change at anytime. This is the rough version so bare with me and I will do my best to get a better corrected version up ASAP. Thanks and enjoy!

Reviews

[Decanter Red]

Why did I imagined writing this before? :O
I, for one, love wastelands because of the endless possibilites you could do with them. This story is a true action theme, again, I'm so biased because there is nothing like an adrenaline rush. I like the description of the wasteland, so desolate and ugly yet I find a mysterious allure.

The whole piece is very cinematic, and the ending is just EPIC. And you have spacing for this one! Yay!

I'm not sure if you heard or knew these suggestions, but you probably can use them for future chapters.

1. Sentence length, paragraph length play a role in combat scene. Mix and match to create the effect you want.
2. No action reader like better than a HOT BIKE. Especially for the protaganist. Firing and chase scenes on bikes is way epic and very cool. They can either be the normal real life kind, or modified with powerful turbos, extra grip on the wheels, bla bla, the kind.
3. I wonder if you play video games, I don't, but I watch gameplays. From observing the reactions of the characters, their movements and flair, you can make it really realistic on paper. I recommend resident evil 5/6 and tomb raider underworld for your genres.

Woohoo! Keep it up. I will continue checking your work, but for now, I need a break from reviewing haha.

[Joshua Hunter]

Thank you so much! I also love post-apocalyptic settings! Yeah thanks for the tips I will definitely take the first one into consideration big time. You guessed it, I was already going to give him an old bike here soon! And yes I used to play a lot of video games, but I like that idea of watching the cut scenes for that. Thanks once again for the great review, they are always helpful!

[Decanter Red]

You're welcome ^^